


yawny at the apocalypse

by cexies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cexies/pseuds/cexies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against the cool sheen of her sweat, Karkat feels like he’s on fire. Flickers of warmth that smother away Terezi’s hard edges, consuming any thought or trace of attention she can bring—and God does she know that Karkat Vantas consumes; that there is not an inch of him that she would give up, greedily keeping every cell of skin and bone to her own. It is a pity that takes her entire being, dedicating every thought and motion into keeping him whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	yawny at the apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> [[S]](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbLIphmuBpo)  
> 

As Terezi reaches her climax, it's always the same sensation. The hyper-awareness of existence, mixing with a clear sharpness of sight. Her heavy breathing always allows the world to open up further, to understand the smudges that make up her usual world. She can feel the blunt scraping of Karkat's claws in dimensions that shouldn't exist, that don't exist, but yet exist perfectly in this moment. Their hips still roll together, and she can practically taste the grape, cherry and mint that flow over their thighs and stain her faded toys beneath. It is no different from the first time they did this, and she is sure it will be no different from the last. This brief moment of clarity allows her to take in Karkat as he is. No longer is he the shadow of the boy who could barely stand without doubt. A true leader: brave and handsome to meet all his favorite cliches. While she sees perfectly, Karkat is the opposite. He pails as he loves, wholeheartedly with all his being. His eyes are still shut, breath rolling out in puffs as the corner of his mouth twitches up into a smirk. You seem so pleased with yourself Mr. Vantas, she whispers, and he chuckles with another pant.

Reality finally seeps in again, and a laugh escapes under her breath. Beads of sweat roll off the crook of her nose and drip onto the troll underneath her. He seems completely unaware, still trying to ground himself. Terezi laughs again and kisses him, light touches that only let up when his lips begin responding again. She loves the moments like this, when adrenaline pulses with encouragement as they spend the early morning wrapped up in each other. As Terezi's energy bubbles up again, Karkat looks the most exhausted she's seen him. Their difference in caste is already seeping through into the most intimate of moments. Terezi has a stamina that seems endless, always prepared to give her more of a chance for survival over her lower peers. Meanwhile Karkat is easily exhausted, and his chest still rises and falls with frenzied panting. Against the cool sheen of her sweat, Karkat feels like he's on fire. Flickers of warmth that smother away Terezi's hard edges, consuming any thought or trace of attention she can bring—and God does she know that Karkat Vantas consumes; that there is not an inch of him that she would give up, greedily keeping every cell of skin and bone to her own. It is a pity that takes her entire being, dedicating every thought and motion into keeping him whole. 

She smiles down over him, carefully running her fingers through the graying curls of his hair. Her claws easily slice through the toughest of skin, so she moves with the pads of her digits first, letting the soft whorls guide her administrations. There's no need to draw blood, the proof of his beautiful anomaly is already dusting his cheeks and rising through the pours of his skin. Each cluster of crimson blemishes is another testament to the body she owns: the man she'll devour with all his achieved ambitions and promised hope. Her fascination with him is endless, spanning through every crack and whisper—she doubts there could be a single void or timeline where this gaunt creature would ever slip through her attention. A thousand sweeps of symmetry, reflected in every flutter of adoration. In pity and hate, there is nothing but intensity to have. To own. To be remembered. She will remember him better than anyone, with every moment etched into perfect memories. 

Her palm moves to follow the curve of his face, bemused by each bump of subtly scarred skin. Each wound is a reminder of his durability over the sweeps of his life, but each stammered breath is the underlying vulnerability. She doesn't hear the sigh, but his functions are wired and documented in lengths that Terezi cannot dedicate to anyone or anything else. She knows he is sated, and there is a rush of pride to know that she is the one responsible for quelling such a passionate troll. His entire being is usually dedicated to bursts of personality and character, but under the lull of their pity she can keep him quiet. His breathing is already evening out, and she marvels at how much trust they've built up. Karkat is not one to fall asleep with others around, and the knowledge of such leaves flutters in places Terezi pretends she is too detached for. In truth, she lives for the moments when she catches him alone, both occupied in their roles and jobs that adulthood has swept them into. It makes time precious, meaningful.

As much as she wants to soak up every detail, there is still work for her to do. While she has no qualms with waking up sticky and smelling of Karkat, his own thought on the subject isn't as welcoming. However, he is already falling asleep, leaving little room for him to clean up. Terezi huffs in mock annoyance to his almost-slumber. She can smell the flutter of his eyelids where they open again, silently watching her with emotions Terezi feels she could wither under. To keep the emotional dominance in her court, her fingers lightly flick against the nub of his nose. He scrunches it in return, muttering a curse of playful irritation. She kisses him again, and he returns it—this time playfully biting on her lip. He is far more sleepy than she first thought. With regretful resolve, she finally removes her body from his, smirking as he tenses from her frame ghosting back over his slick bulge. Even if he reacts, Terezi knows her knight is spent. Instead, she reaches for her shirt, passing over the tangled mess that is Karkat's sweater. She has plenty of clothes to make up for it, and the way he still clings to the security of his youth is too adorable to taint with the pleasures of his later life. She wipes over the mess her genetic material has made of him, letting the teal and red fade back to their original grey. It's almost disappointing, but her interest instead moves to the shivers that trickle across his skin, leaving the perfect braille markings over the bones of hips. She makes sure Karkat is clean before repeating the action on herself, with considerably less attention and care. Her body is far from ending, and there is bitter resent to how Karkat's is ending.

Terezi can still tell he's watching her, unsure of her intentions now. They both know she could go again: that the blissful peace Karkat has found is still a buzz of energy for her higher caste. She accepts this, but also accepts that she is no longer the selfish embodiment of her youth. There is better joy found in watching over his sleeping form, carefully measuring their temperature differences, and breathing in the life that pulses through his sedation. There's more than enough room to tuck him under her chin, wriggling around in the pile to brush a few scalemates away. A leader is nothing without support, and from this angle she can protect. His body finally slumps down into the assorted fabrics they've amassed, leaving her for the expanding space of dreams. She'll fall asleep later, after taking him to sopor and cooling his thinkpan from the dayterrors that still overwhelm. She'll kiss the wrong back into a faded memory, and keep the present anchored. For now, she tangles herself against him, tracing drawings of old roleplay characters against his stomach. He barely shifts, and she allows him to rest. She wonders, how much longer can she meld against his frame as if her body is crippled without his support: how long he'll still pity the corruption that replaces her bones. How long he'll live, breathe, and how long he'll still trace the contours of her palm as if he is undeserving of such a moment. 

Tomorrow he'll carry on with his birth right, conquering with liberation and giving himself to every troll who will exist and has existed. She will stand with pride, watching over a revolution that will drain his life even faster. So, for now, she takes him as hers, and hers alone.


End file.
